Infallible
by Sir Gawaine
Summary: "I just wanted to protect what I had, Harry. I didn't mean for it to escalate like it did." Also known as the one with the insider trading (7x05) Rating for mild language.


**A/N – This is another one of my headcanons, one of the strongest ones that I have. Also Harry and Malcolm because I will never ever be tired of friends who never say anything but who always know what the other one means.**

"_Cricketers_?"

Malcolm dragged his eyes away from the four computer screens he was working on simultaneously, to find Harry standing next to his desk. Malcolm hadn't heard him approach and, despite the dark cloud he could feel lurking over his head, he smiled. Harry was still the best at what he did, when he wanted to be.

"_Cricketers_?" Harry said again, "I think we could both do with a drink."

_Ah,_ Malcolm thought, _So he did notice._

The day had been an intense one, to say the least, and Harry had shown no sign he had heard any of what Malcolm had been saying about his bank accounts. But, of course, Harry never let you know what he knew until it suited him. Twenty years and Malcolm still forgot that sometimes.

"No, thank you," Malcolm shook his head, and continued before Harry could argue, "I'm really rather hungry. Dinner, perhaps?"

"_The George_ then," Harry nodded, "I could eat two of those sorry excuses for steaks that they serve up."

The rest of the team had drifted slowly off the Grid before Harry even left his office, so it was just the two of them, as it so often was in the evenings.

"Give me half an hour to finish this," Malcolm turned back to his screens, "And we can go. Those steaks will still be there."

Malcolm didn't know if Harry did anymore work when he went back to his office but he was ready, jacket on and keys in hand, the moment that Malcolm was finished. It was a short walk to _The George _and they took it in companionable near silence, quite comfortable with the presence of one another. The night was a warm one and the walk pleasant enough after a day breathing the recycled air of the Grid. The streets were in that quiet time between the evening rush of people heading home and the night time revellers coming out for a little entertainment but Malcolm hardly noticed. He could not have guessed what Harry was thinking about, but his own mind was occupied with the gravity of what he had done, with the not insignificant amount of money currently sitting in his bank accounts. Money that he had gained by, quite frankly, allowing what little courage he had to desert him at the moment of truth.

_The George _wasn't too busy, being only seven on a Thursday, and they found a table in the corner, back to the wall like all good Spooks. Harry was good to his word, deciding on a steak and a whisky before he even finished reading the menu. In the end, Malcolm chose the same thing, unable to think beyond the guilt that had balled in his chest and made it feel as tight as if he was having one of his asthma attacks. He must have looked ashen, because Harry volunteered to go and place the order at the bar, telling him as he stood that perhaps he should have a puff of his inhaler because he 'looked a little grey'. Malcolm did so, watching him carefully, watching the ease with which Harry was able to put a smile on his face and chat freely with the barman, a youngster no older than Jo.

It had been a long time since they'd gone for dinner and even longer since Malcolm had been the one to suggest it. It was just another loss he had learned to live with, the sacrifice of the closeness he and Harry had once shared, before Harry was promoted to Head of Section. When he had been a case officer, even Senior Case Officer, he was just another one of the team and they'd had something much closer to a conventional friendship. Not that Malcolm cared any less for Harry now, and he knew Harry didn't care any less about him, but the nature of the job meant that Harry had to distance himself. Ever public schoolboys at heart, neither of them had let the other know his real feelings on the matter, but sometimes it was nice to know that what they had once shared was lurking just below the carefully maintained surface.

Harry came back to the table chuckling, a double whisky in each hand.

"What's funny?"

"The barman called you my partner," he said, still laughing as he sat down, "He was most disappointed when I corrected him."

Despite himself, Malcolm began laughing too.

"Can you imagine that being a disappointment in a place like this twenty years ago?"

"I can't," Harry admitted, shrugging out his jacket and taking a sip of his drink, "But times change, Malcolm. You and I know that better than most."

_Don't we just._

Harry continued to make himself more comfortable, reaching up and loosening his tie, pulling at the knot and unfastening his top button. The pub was warm, lacking in anything modern like an air conditioning system, and Malcolm followed suit, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the back of the chair. Harry didn't say anything further, instead lifting his glass and watching Malcolm over the top of it. He had a most unnerving stare, one that he had not even known he possessed until Colin had pointed it out to him one day. Harry had been most upset no one had ever told him about before. Now he did know, he unashamedly used it for another weapon in his arsenal.

"I did hear what you said about Highland Life," he said eventually, "I wasn't ignoring you."

"Oh, it's fine," Malcolm murmured, unable to make eye contact, Harry's voice so gentle when it rarely was, "I was worrying, that's all. You know what I'm like sometimes."

"You had every right," Harry coaxed, "We don't take much from this job, Malcolm. You must make the most of what you have."

Malcolm's throat closed up and he could only nod, picking up his drink to try and distract Harry from the blush he could feel creeping up his neck from under his collar. When he dared to look again, Harry was still looking at him.

"What happened, Malcolm?"

His fingers tightened around his glass and he knew he wouldn't be able to lie if Harry met his eyes again.

"I didn't-"

"Malcolm?"

"I just wanted to protect what I had, Harry. I didn't mean for it to escalate like it did."

He knew what he sounded like, childlike, desperate even, but Harry was _still _staring and Malcolm felt a compulsion to speak that he very rarely had.

"Malcolm, did you…make some gains?"

Harry's tone was unreadable and, as quickly as it had come, the compulsion to talk left Malcolm. At that same moment, the waitress appeared with their meals and any reply Malcolm might have made was cut off by her cheerful delivery. Harry ordered them another whisky each and she bustled away, leaving Malcolm staring down at his food.

"Malcolm," Harry said softly, "Talk to me."

"I did," he mumbled, daring to look and finding only gentleness on Harry's face. Somehow that only served to make it worse.

"Oh Malcolm," he said, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry that I didn't say something sooner."

"I told Ros," Malcolm choked out, no longer caring what he sounded like, only relieved to finally confess to his sins, still a good choirboy at heart despite the years since he had stood in a church, "And she told me to keep it. She said I've given enough to this country."

"And I suppose she would be right," Harry picked up his knife and fork, and began to eat, "But you won't do that, will you Malcolm?"

"I can't. I can't keep it, Harry."

"I know you can't," he said, popping a fat chip in his mouth, "But I will not punish you, Malcolm, however much you might want me to. Nothing I do to you will be as bad as what you are doing to yourself."

"I'm a damn coward," Malcolm, to his disgust, found himself trembling, his throat tight, "I took advantage of my position and I let you down and my God, I'm so sorry, Harry."

Throughout his little speech, Harry sat quietly and allowed him to talk. Harry had never cut him off when he needed to talk. It was one of his best qualities as a friend, one he was much better at now than when he was younger, this surprising ability to listen that seemed so against his nature. Then again, he was a spy through and through, so maybe it wasn't that surprising after all.

"You're no more of a coward than I, Malcolm. You have a dependent who relies on you. You were worried for your mother, I imagine."

"It's no excuse-"

"It's done, Malcolm. It's done."

Harry's tone was firm, still gentle, but firm now. For a few moments he ate slowly and Malcolm, when he could breathe again, began on his own rapidly cooling dinner. The guilt eased a little, he found he was ravenously hungry; he had not eaten much that day, as the whole sorry business unfolded.

"So what are you going to do?" Harry asked, when the waitress brought over the second drinks, "You're not going to sit and do nothing."

Malcolm noticed that Harry had not asked him what he had done exactly, with whom, or how much money he had found himself with. Harry wouldn't ask, of course. That wasn't his style, and he trusted Malcolm, more than he deserved to be trusted.

"I don't want it. I'm going to give it away, every single sodding penny of it. Half to a cancer charity, because of Dad. Half to an anti-bullying one. Colin was bullied, you know. The charity I have in mind meant a great deal to him. He used to talk about it all of the time, all of the things that they were doing for the kids they helped. He was quite taken with the idea."

Harry smiled down into his glass, looking so much younger when he did. The lines Malcolm had watched him acquire over the years smoothed out and suddenly his old friend was sat before him again.

"You're a good man, Malcolm. You should never let yourself forget that."

"You're too easy on me."

"You're too hard on yourself."

That conclusion reached, there seemed nothing further to say and they finished their meals in easy silence. When Harry announced he was going to order dessert, Malcolm found that he was still hungry as well.

"I'll go," he said, "Apple pie? Cream, not custard, if I remember correctly."

"That's the one."

The barman was indeed very friendly, and chatted away to Malcolm as he put the order onto their tab and poured two more drinks.

"Will that be all, sir? Would you like to settle the bill now?"

"Yes, I will pay now, I think."

He handed over his bankcard, paying for the entire meal and all of the drinks. Harry would protest, but for once he was going to ride roughshod over what Harry wanted.

Surprisingly though, Harry didn't say a word when Malcolm announced what he had done, just accepted his final whisky of the evening with good grace and a nod of his head. Dessert came and was demolished, and then they talked for a little while of other things; of Malcolm's mother and Harry's Catherine, who was currently up to her neck in research for a documentary revisiting Orwell's Wigan. Harry's voice was full of pride and relief, relief that he knew now what she was doing, where she was, who she was with and, most importantly, that she was the one who wanted him to know it.

_We all have our weaknesses, _Malcolm mused, the whisky warming him from the inside out as they waited outside for a couple of taxis, _He's no more infallible than me._

He insisted that Harry take the first taxi that arrived and the other man didn't argue, slipping into the back seat and winding down the window when Malcolm closed the door for him.

"I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early. Today is forgotten, alright? I'll have a word with Ros. It's over."

Malcolm nodded and watched the car pull smoothly into the traffic. He felt loose and relaxed after the alcohol and shedding the weight of his actions and he knew he would sleep well tonight. Tomorrow, he would phone the charities and make substantial donations in the names of Rhys Wynn-Jones and Colin Wells and someone, somewhere, would benefit at least from what he had done today.

All things considered, it was the very least that he could do.


End file.
